


Liminality

by Witchie



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, also I ref some early game dialogue, blame the life/death aesthetics, blood price spoilers, but I have 130 hrs at this pt, it's not my fault your honor, kind of, so forgive me if I misremembered the wording, this is eh but I have to post it before 1.0!!, this is just me trying to figure out what's going on in these two's heads, tho why can't I write Than without piling on the drama??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchie/pseuds/Witchie
Summary: About waiting for the end of things, and the frustration of feeling closure just out of reach....He wonders if mortals also mourn early, if they bemoan their wasted days and numbered nights. Do they feel as he does, that a dark shadow hovers over him, waiting to steal away what he cherishes?
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 178





	Liminality

**Author's Note:**

> This highly self-indulgent fic was inspired by three things:  
> 1\. my 100th run, which ended (again) with death to the dreaded beetle  
> 2\. My realization that Zagreus doesn’t know anything about anything and that (very gruesome, tw) tv show 1000 ways to die is actually just about him  
> 3\. My ongoing campaign Let Zagreus Sit. Everyday I force him through a grueling, traumatic Underworld trek because I am Not Good at video games and he deserves a rest after. Sign my petition at

Thanatos materializes in a House that buzzes lowly with activity, no sound above a whisper. Lord Hades works undisturbed at his desk- Zagreus must be out on an escape attempt. Thanatos stifles a quiet pang of disappointment.

He moves to wait for Zagreus in his usual spot, but stops short at the sight of his little alcove, home now to new seating and flames flickering purple. _Zagreus._

He runs his fingers lightly over the smooth, dark silk of the chaise. Thanatos fights to keep his face flat and unimpressed, but no one is watching and he can’t fool himself. Zagreus must have known that spoiling him is a waste of gemstones- Thanatos is rarely even here, when is he going to use this stuff?

But Zagreus did it anyway.

The Styx is calm tonight, yet undisturbed by violent rebirths of wayward princes. It drifts past Thanatos’ watch, lazy and unbothered, and he’s struck with familiar envy. He’d once told Zagreus that he watched the river because it was his competition.

True, and untrue. He watches the river because he is furiously jealous of the tireless movement of it and its steward, both of whom perform their duties flawlessly, unceasingly, and never break upon obstacles named love or loss.

Thanatos longs to be that unwavering. Would that he could remain exempt from the woeful attentions of Aphrodite and her kin. Better yet, good riddance also to his hateful siblings Strife and Pain and Deceit, may neither them nor Love ever whisper sweet poisons into his ears again. He could be drawn down under by the current of his Fate and never experience what it means to plead for air.

The Styx flows on, completely oblivious.

Bitterness eats away at Thanatos’ earlier pleased surprise like maggots, spoiling it and turning it rancid. Even if he could somehow manage to convince Zagreus to consider staying, what could he offer in exchange? A few awkward, cool conversations between work every season? Every second he spends with Zagreus is a tug-of-war between _Than_ and _Death_ , and he’s tired.

He doesn’t consider it pessimistic to assume he’ll be lucky to ever see Zagreus again after he escapes. 

_All Charon longs for is coin_ , he thinks petulantly, _and the Fates hand that to him in spades_.

So what if Zagreus wants to throw gemstones and nectar and ambrosia at him. What will they matter, when Zagreus is gone and cozying up to Olympus? He can fill Thanatos’ alcove to bursting with trinkets and it’ll still feel empty.

He can feel cut strings fraying and unraveling, rough and irritating. Work is calling.

He peeks over his shoulder at Achilles, standing guard blank-faced and attentive. The House is still gripped with quiet lethargy. Zagreus hasn’t returned.

He’s loathe to miss any opportunity to see Zagreus, but his sisters tug on his hands and his cloak. _Thanatos, Thanatos, don’t you know you have a duty to attend to?_

Thanatos grits his teeth and takes a long breath in; lets it all out in a rush. He allows himself one more selfish moment to imagine Zagreus, smiling and relaxed like he’s not been in ages, lounging on that lavish chaise.

Then he pulls his power around him in a reluctant shroud and shifts to the surface. Work can’t wait forever.

* * *

Zagreus should return to the House.

He should, he really should… He should walk through that innocent-looking archway and die, and stumble out of the Styx and shake blood from his hair and wave sheepishly at Achilles and say hello to Dusa. He has so many gemstones! The Contractor was offering some lovely paintings last he looked… He needs to check in with Nyx about how her and Chaos are doing. Maybe Meg would finally like to talk?

The snow is so, so cold. It bites through his leggings into his thighs, colder than anything he’s ever felt. It stings a little. He wonders if it’s always this cold when it snows or if that’s Demeter’s work.

He leans forward over his crossed legs, pressing his elbows into his knees, and plants his hands into the snow also. He hisses when the snow nips warningly at his palms.

There are so many things to wonder about, here. Even just this clearing contains so many little marvels: the air that burns sharply in his lungs, the glittering blanket of snow and ice, the infinite sky, _plants_. He could spend days (actual days! With nights on either side!) in this clearing picking up every little thing and learning all their secrets. 

But Zagreus knows himself. He would want more, eventually. He’s greedy like that- he had had a family that (mostly) loved him below, but he’d also needed the one above. Someday too he will leave this clearing behind for something more.

Someday. Maybe today!

...probably not.

He can’t feel his fingers anymore. When Zagreus holds them up to inspect them, they are bluish white and clumsy. He struggles to curl them, fascinated. No wonder the mortals fear Lady Demeter so! He briefly considers holding his hands under the snow longer just to see what would happen. Would they freeze solid, like the water in the lake?

He looks up at the arch looming ahead. Why _should_ he go back? What point is there? He can fight through the Underworld with his eyes closed, Pact or no. The Lord of the Dead himself struggles to contain him. If he goes back, he’ll just end up here again. 

Well then why _shouldn’t_ he go back, if he’s so confident he can escape again? 

Zagreus groans and falls back flat in the snow. The truth is that he’s so tired. This cyclical war he wages against his father gives him nothing but it takes and takes and takes. He’s killed so many and died to so many. When he closes his eyes he sees his torso cut open and glistening and knows where his every organ is because he’s seen them all and felt each one punctured. He’s had his throat slit and his bones exposed and every bit of him burnt bloody. 

He keeps his eyes open. He doesn’t sleep if he can help it, doesn’t even chance sitting down. He’s terrified of what will catch up to him if he does. Here is nice, though- he feels a bit hazy, and the cold isn’t so bad when he gets used to it. 

Some fire in his soul is tempered by the chill and the fresh air. He can almost trick himself into thinking he made it out, that he’s free and just taking a break to breathe before he continues on.

It’s a nice thought.

“You _idiot_ , Zagreus!”

He frowns, squinting up at the sky. Getting to his feet right now sounds like a trial. “...Than?”

“ _What_ are you doing?” 

A dark shape enters his field of view, blocking out most of the sky. He squints harder and- yep, that’s Than alright. And wearing his _I-can’t-believe-I-care-about-you_ expression. “Oh… resting?”

“Resting?” Thanatos scoffs. “In the freezing snow? You’ve gone and died again.”

Zagreus blinks. Well, he guesses he doesn’t have a choice now, although he does feel a bit sad to say goodbye to his momentary calm. “And you’re here because…?”

Thanatos shoots him a look that could not possibly contain any more scorn. He also looks… angry? “You are so… I’m _Death_. I’m here for _you_.”

“Oh.” Zagreus’ heart plummets. He didn’t want- he’s never wanted to make Than watch him die. He certainly never wanted to make him responsible for it. In the past he’s always managed to find that last, desperate bit of strength to move on past their competitions and die in the next room over instead- something he’s sure Than’s noticed.

He’s glad that Than has never followed him out. Those times are always the most gruesome, when he’s weak already.

“I- I’m sorry,” he winces, “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s new,” Thanatos says wryly, but his hands are gentle when he maneuvers Zagreus into a sitting position. 

He doesn’t feel the cold at all anymore- doesn’t feel much of anything, really. He guesses that has to do with being dead but not gone. 

Thanatos crouches in front of him, hood pulled low over his eyes and scythe clenched tightly in a gauntleted fist. He looks ominous with his bright eyes peering out from the shadows of the hood. Zagreus just smiles a little, charmed in spite of it all.

“Did you really just lay down and die?” Than asks, incredulous. 

“Well- no!” Zagreus protests instinctively even though he did kind of do that.

“I was just- it’s just nice out here,” he explains lamely. He’s not going to dump that entire melodramatic monologue from earlier on Than right now. He’s definitely not going to tell him about how hard it’d been to just take a step forward, or that dying out here in the snow was the most restful thing he’d done since he started escaping.

Thanatos raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

“Nice,” he repeats slowly, gesturing to the frozen scene around them.

“Mhm.” Than is stubborn, but Zagreus even more so. ‘Nice’ is all Than is getting. And in any case, it isn’t a lie- he _does_ think it’s nice.

Thanatos sighs. He looks so out of place up here, it makes Zagreus ache. Why are things so difficult? He’d been so sure that he could make things work- that he could hold on to those who’ve loved him even if he left them. But now, watching Than squint in the light, his outline starkly shadowed against the bright snow, it feels like the world is telling him _no_. _No_ , you can’t have this place and him, look at him, does he belong here? Do you?

Go home, little Hades. Go home and rot.

“Let’s go,” Zagreus says. Suddenly he’s done. He wants to go back to the feeling of laying numb in the snow, alone, with only the wind for company. He wants to _rest_.

Than looks at him and for a moment it seems like he sees. Like he knows, somehow, the heaviness of his body and the way it struggles for every breath. 

Thanatos looks away. The moment breaks. 

“You’re going alone. I’m not done working.” Thanatos hesitates. “We’ll talk when I get back?”

It’s an olive branch, one that Zagreus is all too willing to accept. He’s eager for them to just breathe the same air- they’ve missed each other too many times lately. He wants to have the solemn steadiness of Than’s presence to himself, just for a little while. Maybe it will soothe him.

“I’ll wait for you,” Zagreus says and Thanatos startles, a minute widening of the eyes. It’s not a promise Zagreus has made before. There’s a stillness in waiting that doesn’t suit him, but for Thanatos he would chain his feet to marble, if only for a little while.

He’s learning, slowly, that love walks hand in hand with sacrifice and calls their union compromise. He doesn’t want to be his father- all demands and brutish, unyielding steel. To postpone his next attempt and wile away a day in leisure is a cheap price to pay for Than’s company. 

Zagreus leans back and closes his eyes.

He hears Than’s soft ‘see you soon’, feels the bite of metal, and then the familiar lapping of the Styx.

He hopes Than isn’t too upset.

* * *

Thanatos watches the Styx bubble up to swallow Zagreus’ body as it has surely done many times before. He’s never seen it until now. It makes him nauseous, the way the waters pool out from under Zagreus, indistinguishable from his blood.

But he makes himself watch the whole vile thing, because it was _his_ scythe that dealt the blow.

Blood and darkness…!

He curses and shifts away from that drear clearing, unable to stand its stifling silence any longer. Dying of cold! Zagreus can’t even sit down to have a drink, how did he bear lying still long enough for the cold to catch up to him?

He thinks back to seeing Zagreus still and quiet in the snow and grips his scythe hard, breathing through an itching anxiety. Zagreus isn’t dead (he’d said he’d _wait for him_ ) but he isn’t _okay_.

And neither is Thanatos. He’s never raised a hand against Zagreus before, not even in play. He’d been away for the entirety of Achilles’ training and so had been exempt from the rash of challenges Zagreus had issued to anyone and everyone in the House, and he’s not one for sparring.

Thanatos hates that he knows now how Zagreus’ flesh and soul parts under his blade. Hates that he’s heard a final choked, pained gasp from his throat. It is different, somehow, than all the times he’d taken lives before. Mortals are like parchment; they tear easily and crumple into nothing in an instant.

But Zagreus had lingered. And in the breath between the arc of his scythe and the bubbling of the Styx, his own heart beat alone. 

That lonely feeling haunts him even as Death haunts battlefields and healing houses. It draws his shoulders taut and makes his chest tight. The cries of mourners, for whom he usually feels annoyance at worst and embers of pity at best, ring in his ears long after he leaves them.

He thinks back to his drear corner of the House, all done up in Underworld splendor, and the way it had felt empty despite all its dressings. Is that what things will always be like, when Zagreus is gone? 

He’d been so angry, so scared when he’d heard about Zagreus’ escapes. At the time the rush of emotion had taken him by surprise- he’d never been particularly moved by things before. Thanatos hadn’t thought too hard about the why of it, then, why it scared him. Now he knows, and he almost wishes he didn’t.

The possibility of life without Zagreus isn’t something he’d confronted before then. Zagreus had always been there and would always be- where would he go? It was a given, a fact as reliable and infinite as Death below and the gods above.

Until it wasn’t.

Thanatos ushers the soul of an old woman down to the depths and winces as one of her daughters bursts into noisy tears. He wonders if mortals also mourn early, if they bemoan their wasted days and numbered nights. Do they feel as he does, that a dark shadow hovers over him, waiting to steal away what he cherishes?

Another soul, more crying. 

And although Zagreus is not yet gone, it feels more and more often like little bits of him are being chipped away. The Zagreus from Before never would have died laying in the snow, he would have fallen through the ice into the lake because he couldn’t help running across it, or he’d have stumbled into a bear’s den while exploring, or he’d have eaten something poisonous because he couldn’t resist the color. 

But now a tired quietness clings to Zagreus like a shroud. He climbs from the Styx, gives his greetings, escapes through the window, and dies and rises from the river again. No circumstances deviate from this pattern- not the Pact, not the gods, not even Lord Hades. Zagreus escapes and he dies. Probably only Zagreus and Hypnos know the exact number of attempts, though Thanatos guesses they are nearing a hundred. 

That’s a lot of death and blood for someone so brimming with life.

Zagreus has a soft and lively nature that has always caused trouble in the Underworld, but now Thanatos is watching it drain away and it’s _miserable_. He hates thinking that this might be worse than if Zagreus had just gone already. Is killing him, body and soul, worth keeping him here?

It’s a question Thanatos had forced himself to ask once before, and he’d known his answer then. _I want you home, but not like this._ It hasn’t changed. 

Something has to snap soon. He just prays that it isn’t Zagreus that does so.

* * *

Zagreus rises from the Styx, pleading under his breath. “Please be out, _please be out-_ ”

“Oh, wow!”

No luck.

Hypnos is giving him the same pitying look one would a particularly stupid bug. “Hypothermia! How’d you manage _that_?”

“You know me, Hypnos, I’m full of surprises!” Zagreus tries to back quickly out of the conversation. “But I really need to get going, you know…”

“Wait…” Hypnos’ voice is pitched too loud, and Zagreus cringes in anticipation. “You saw Thanatos, didn’t you!”

Zagreus lunges back to grab his shoulder and gives him a little shake. “Shh! Yeah, okay? Than sent me back. But don’t yell about it!”

“You mean he killed you,” Hypnos corrects.

Zagreus sighs. “Snow killed me. Look, just… don’t mention it to anybody, okay? It wasn’t fun.”

“Definitely do _not_ talk about how Thanatos killed you,” Hypnos says, nodding. “Gotcha!”

“Great, glad we could sort that out…” Zagreus looks over his shoulder. Achilles is staring at him very pointedly. “Hypnos, I gotta go.”

“No problem!” Hypnos says cheerily. “Until you die again!”

Achilles bows as he approaches. “Prince. I couldn’t help but overhear- your return is due to a death of a different kind, this time?”

Zagreus curses internally- why is Hypnos so loud? Shouldn’t the god of sleep have a soft and low tone? “Uh… yes. I spent too long in the cold. I didn’t realize it could kill me so quickly.”

“A death outside of battle.” Achilles crosses his arms. “So Thanatos came to you, then.”

How Thanatos had looked, an inkspot against clean parchment. “Yes. He did.”

“Then he’s seen your death, finally.” Achilles sighs. “Poor lad.”

Zagreus raises his eyebrows. “‘Poor lad’? Are we talking about the same Thanatos?”

Achilles shoots him a sharp look. “Don’t make light of this. How would you have felt, if you’d come across Thanatos in his last moments, and then been made to deal the final blow?”

Against his will, Zagreus imagines Thanatos sprawled across the snow. A feeling of wrongness rolls across him like a wave. He wants to retch. 

Achilles rests a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Grief isn’t rational, lad, same as love. When Pat died I didn’t for a moment consider that we might see each other again in the afterlife, though logically I knew it was a possibility. I just _raged_.”

“He loves you, your Highness. Just, be soft with him, won’t you? It isn’t an easy thing to bear.” Zagreus nods wordlessly and Achilles claps him on the shoulder. “Good lad.”

Zagreus’ room is cool and dim. He pauses on the threshold. After what Achilles had said he didn’t dare brave the lounge (and Meg) or wait around to be scolded and mocked. He’d just wanted somewhere quiet, a place to breathe. 

But now that he’s here he feels that pull. An invisible hook and line, anchored into his chest, drawing him out into the courtyard, out into the Underworld. It’s a sensation that wars with the feeling of cold, deadened limbs.

_Just sit_ , he tells himself, _just sit._

Zagreus sits. The pull grows stronger.

He tries reminding himself that he’s waiting for Than, but that makes him think about that horrid image of Thanatos in the snow. He doesn’t think he could have done what Than did. Bringing a blade against Meg or Charon or his father is one thing. Against an unresisting Thanatos?

No. He couldn’t bear to.

Zagreus squirms in his seat, struggling to relax and feeling oddly guilty. Guilty for dying, guilty for trying to leave, guilty for not leaving. He’s been moving for so long he’s forgotten how to sit still.

He throws an arm over his eyes. Laying here in the dark he can admit, at least to himself, that he’s been avoiding more things than just sleep. All this running, all his meddling- other people’s problems are so much easier to solve than his own. 

What is he supposed to do? Not escape, not die? If he leaves, he hurts them. If he stays, he feels like he’s being slowly entombed, or like he’s being burned to ash. 

Zagreus forces himself to relax into the plush cushions and sweeps together the dredges of his indomitable spirit. Someday he _will_ get out. It won’t be today. Today he is resting. Tomorrow he will climb out the window and carve his way through the Underworld again. But not today.

The cloying calm that overtook him in the snow begins to creep up his limbs. He lets it. Not today, not today. 

It is a heady relief to let it all go for a moment. 

Zagreus doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he’s pushed his weary mind to the edge. It’s all too easy to take the plunge.

* * *

The House Thanatos returns to is still quieter than usual, but it’s of a different kind. This is the quiet that hangs after words hurled like javelins, that lingers in the shock after the blow dealt. It’s how the House always sounds, these days, when Zagreus is around.

Zagreus isn’t in the Hall or the west wing, but both Hypnos and Achilles give him pitying looks as he passes. He ignores them. Nothing they could say could erase the memory of Zagreus in snow bled red.

Thanatos glides nonchalantly to the East Hall, breathing a sigh of relief when he encounters neither his mother nor Lord Hades. Surely neither of them has missed what boils between him and Zagreus, but he’d rather not have them watch his trespass into Zagreus’ room. 

Especially not Lord Hades. That’s a conflict of interest he’s so far managed to avoid through unsurpassed service and sheer luck. He tries not to think what might happen to him were he just a bit less valuable to the Lord.

It takes him a moment to spot Zagreus when he enters the room. He’s sitting down, which is disorienting enough in and of itself, but it’s the look on Zagreus’ face that makes him pause.

Thanatos remembers his wistful thinking from earlier: Zagreus, peaceful and pleased on a chaise in his colors.

This is not that. The blue and yellow fabrics meet in a discordant clash; it almost hurts to look at. Zagreus is curled as tightly as he can in the corner of the mess, a drop of blood amidst stormy waters. His shoulders are hunched and tense. He looks up when Thanatos enters, and his green eye is rimmed red.

“Hey.” Zagreus tries for a smile- it trembles and falls flat. His voice is rough in a way Thanatos has only ever heard after battle.

“Is- did something happen?” Thanatos moves cautiously. This is unfamiliar territory.

“Accidentally fell asleep.”

Thanatos smothers a wince. He’d wondered- well, it wasn’t exactly a secret that the prince gave sleep a wider berth than the shades did Cerberus. The reason why wasn’t exactly clear, but he’d suspected it had something to do with the violence that bled into Zagreus’ every waking hour.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Zagreus tips his head back, eyes on the ceiling. There’s an angry scratch running from his temple to his cheek. Thanatos grimaces, wondering if Zagreus flailed in his sleep or had been clawing at his own skin. 

He steps closer, wavering. “Do you- can I- _ergh_.”

Zagreus laughs. It’s a little shaky, but his eyes crinkle like they do when he’s genuinely amused. Thanatos’ heart stutters in his chest.

“C’mere?” Zagreus extends his arm invitingly.

Thanatos goes to him happily. Shedding his arms and armor feels like being relieved of a far greater burden. He’s light, as light as a breath of air, when Zagreus’ arms come around him. Zagreus lets his head fall onto his shoulders and Thanatos leans his cheek into Zagreus’ hair.

The warm presence of him is almost enough to erase the chill that’s lingered in Thanatos’ veins since they last met. He presses closer, intending to imprint the feeling of Zagreus against him permanently into his memory. It would be a more precious treasure than all the gems Zagreus could bring him.

“Sometimes when I fall asleep I dream about you,” Zagreus says into his neck. His breath curls across his skin and Thanatos shudders. “I wish it was always you.”

“You’d get bored. What else do you dream about?”

“Dying. Killing.” There’s a pause, then his whisper, anxious: “My mother not loving me. Never seeing any of you again.”

The old anger flares, then dies a quiet, affectionately-smothered death. _Then stay_ , he would have said before. _Drop this nonsense and_ **_stay_** _._ But he can’t keep throwing this hurt at Zagreus for clawing his way to freedom. He might as well try to deny the Fates their weavings. Zagreus doesn’t belong here- that’s been clear since he uttered his first small rebellion against Lord Hades, who had never been disobeyed in any sense, let alone to his face. Perhaps even before that, when he’d been born with one eye greener than gemstones. Living-green.

Thanatos wraps an arm around his shoulders. They’re warm and strong and as smooth-skinned as the day Zagreus picked up his first blade. He tries to imagine their secret scars- how many should Zagreus have that Thanatos doesn’t know about? Does Zagreus even know? 

“Once you get out,” Thanatos murmurs into unruly hair, “ask Hermes to send a message every so often. I will come to you, and I’ll tell you how everyone’s doing.”

Zagreus abruptly pulls back. His eyes are wide and shining. Awed, he says, “Than, would you really?”

He’s discomfited and confused by the gratitude practically pouring out of Zagreus (almost offended, really, did Zagreus think he cared so little?), until- he remembers. 

Talking with Megaera and seeing Zagreus out of the corner of his eye. “ _He must know that he’s not wanted here anymore.”_ The look on Zagreus’ face, like someone had cut out his heart, and how Thanatos had immediately wished he could gather the words back up and burn them.

Thanatos leans back and traces the beloved lines of Zagreus’ cheekbone, marveling at how beautiful he is, even tired and worn. This is a blessing beyond what any Olympian could grant. “Of course. You think I’m going to let the Olympians have you all to themselves? They’d ruin you.”

Zagreus laughs and tilts his chin up to kiss him. 

Whatever they’d been in the past, whatever happens in the future- he has this moment, here and now, and Zagreus, warm and loving. He isn’t going to waste it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you die a hundred times, you’ve got to have trauma, right?  
> Also I think it's very stupid (re: sexy) of me that the first fic I finish in a decade I wrote while moving 2700 miles.  
> I'm gnetum on tumblr, come chat!


End file.
